


I Can't Believe This Keeps Happening

by libraryv



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 14:53:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18741307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/libraryv/pseuds/libraryv
Summary: I was chatting online with the lovely and inspiring Rosenoble9, who came up with this idea: Robin and Strike run into each other while going about their daily lives.This is my attempt to write them on three very different outings, woven together with sweetness, and a touch of (hopefully) humour.





	1. Outing the First: Bookstore

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Blue_Robin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Robin/gifts).



Robin strolled along the fiction section leisurely, pausing every so often to pull an interesting-looking title from the shelves and peruse the summary on the back cover. She already had her book club title in hand, but she knew there was enough on her gift card for an extra book. What did she feel like reading?

She looked up and around the store – she supposed she could buy a cookbook, or maybe even a biography? She couldn’t help the smug flutter in her chest as her eyes scanned the “mysteries” sign. No, she’d stick with general fiction. 

She continued along, deciding to start at close to the beginning again, and turned the corner to see a familiar figure wearing an awfully familiar coat. Strike was at the far end of the aisle, apparently lost in concentration. He flipped the page of the book he was reading, and frowned. Robin smiled to herself, then walked towards him.

He looked up as she approached, clearly surprised. “Robin!”

“Hi, Cormoran! What brings you here?”

“Lucy’s birthday. She likes the candles from this store, apparently, but I’m procrastinating with that particular task and browsing the books instead.” He patted the shelf nearest to him. "More appealing."

She gestured to the book in his hands. “You didn’t look too happy with that one.”

He smiled. “When the main character says, “I can’t believe this keeps happening” for the third time in as many paragraphs, I’m not impressed.”

Robin laughed. 

Strike nodded at Robin's hand. “That’s a classic for a reason. Highly entertaining, actually.”

“Yeah, we’re reading it for book club coming up! I’m hosting and I still haven’t read it. I’ve been procrastinating myself.” She flipped through the pages. “It's not too big, though. And I’m a fast reader.”

Strike looked at her. “Yeah, I remember.”

Robin felt flattered that he remembered, then felt silly. She met his gaze. “So you’ve read this, then, and enjoyed it?”

Strike’s eyes crinkled. “Yeah. Actually, it was one of the few books I had that I managed to keep a hold of throughout my teens.”

Robin listened, curious. Strike rarely talked about his life.

“Anyways, quite the daring heroics in that one. I suppose I found it inspiring.” The corner of his mouth turned up into a self-deprecating smile as he looked at her.

Robin could well imagine the teenage Strike, with his turbulent home life, in need of a hero or two.  
She smiled softly at him, but he had turned away, placing the book back onto the shelf. It was clear that the brief glimpse into his past was over.

He turned back to her, a look of resignation on his face. “I’d better get Lucy’s candle. I’m under strict instructions as to which one she wants.” He gave her a wry look.

Robin chuckled. 

“I’ll leave you to it.”

“All right.” He raised his eyebrows at her book. “Have fun with the Musketeers. Swashbuckling and all that.”

There was an awkward moment where Robin debated a hug. They had never run into each other like this before, outside of work. She had just decided to leave it when Strike leaned forward, his hand on her upper arm as he pressed a quick, dry kiss to her cheek. An impression of raspy stubble and cool mint, a last crinkle of his eyes, and he was gone, walking heavily towards the gift section.


	2. Outing the Second: Groceries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flirting and banter among the apples. :D

Robin glanced at her list one last time. Just about done. She stood in front of the shiny piles of apples in red and green varieties, debating on which kind would taste better with the brie, when she heard a voice beside her.

“Need any help?”

Robin looked over at the blonde man next to her. She wasn’t in the mood.

She raised her eyebrows. “Are you asking if I need help picking out apples?” 

He smiled. “Yeah." He leaned towards her, putting a suggestive emphasis on the next words. "I’m an expert in choosing the best-looking ones.”

Robin rolled her eyes before giving him a quelling look. “No thanks.”

She turned away, but he shifted easily around her, blocking her path. She sighed. 

“You sure? I did say I was an expert.” He gave her what he clearly thought was a winning smile before taking a step closer to her.

“And she did say ‘no thanks’” said a familiar voice behind her. Robin turned around to see Strike, who gave her a startlingly broad smile before pulling her forward into a warm hug. She was too surprised to react when he gave her a firm kiss on the lips before saying, “So sorry I’m late meeting you, sweetheart, the boss was on my case all day long and I couldn’t leave the office on time.”

She almost missed his wink before he looked pointedly over Robin’s shoulder. “Can I help you, mate? Need some assistance with those apples?”

Robin bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud as she faced the blonde man, now beet-red. Strike’s arm settled comfortably around her waist.   
He shook his head as his eyes scanned Strike from head to foot. “No, I’m alright. Er,” he said vaguely in their direction, “sorry. I didn’t know-“ he took off away from them, hurrying away and around the corner. 

Robin laughed, breathing out as Strike’s arm left her side. “Thank you,” she said. “That was good timing.” 

He shrugged, studying her. “I’m sure you could have handled it, but I thought, why not lend a hand? Power in numbers, etc.” 

He picked up an apple. “Shame he didn’t want my help. After all, I _am_ an expert at choosing the best ones.” He gave her a sly grin.

Robin gave him an answering one. She rarely saw Strike like this; away from casework he was more lighthearted. His sense of humour definitely came out. He was even rather jokey, and she found she rather liked it. 

This was strange territory for them; it almost felt like – were they flirting? She couldn’t be sure, but the thought made her slightly giddy. Her lips were still tingling from his kiss.

“So,” he said, putting more apples into a bag, “book club tonight.” Robin watched him place the full bag in her basket, surprised.

“How did you know?”

“Brie. Apples. The bottles of wine. Looks like a Dumas-themed menu to me.”

Robin laughed. “Glad to see your detective skills are still intact. All I’m missing is a baguette.”

They both turned and walked to the bakery section, falling into step together easily, Robin’s basket on Strike’s arm. Robin looked up at him, not wanting to pry. Curiousity won out. 

“Here getting dinner?”

“Yes, but no brie and apples for me. I came in here on a mission for microwave curry, I’m afraid.” They turned down the aisle. 

“How did you enjoy your time spent with the Three Inseparables?”

Robin clapped her hands together. “Oh, I loved it! You were right – extremely entertaining! Dumas is quite funny.”

Strike nodded. “Yeah, not as stuffy as you would think. Did you have a favourite?”

Robin chose a baguette and put it in the basket. “Athos. Intelligence, that reserve hiding such depth, and that tortured past…so romantic.” She sighed. Strike grinned.

They had walked to the tills and stopped, looking at each other.

“I’d better pay and head back to the flat to set up.”

Strike nodded at the frozen section to his left. “I’d better get my dinner.”

This time there was no awkwardness; they both reached for each other at the same time. It was a quick embrace, but there was a lingering quality to it all the same. Robin couldn’t help but rest her cheek on his chest for a fraction of a second, and she could have sworn Strike pressed his mouth to her hair, before they both drew apart.

“Thanks for the rescue, earlier,” Robin said, smiling. 

Strike nodded, giving her an unreadable look. “Anytime.” He turned down the aisle, and Robin walked to the tills.


	3. Outing the Third: Restaurant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A twisted ankle can be sexier than it sounds.

Robin watched her date get up from his chair, his hand going into his jacket for his wallet. At least he was going to-

“I had the pasta, but you had the wine, so I’m leaving enough for my part plus tip.” Cory put some bills down onto the table without looking at her. 

“Alright,” she said stiffly.

“Okay, bye Robin. Shame about how things ended. See you around.” He flashed her the peace sign and left. Robin sighed. She might as well finish her glass of wine. 

Cory had been a disaster. She reached for her phone to text Vanessa, who had asked for an update. 

_About to order dessert when Cory tells me he’s decided he’s going to get back together with his ex. Apparently I reminded him of her. :|_

A minute and a sip of wine before Vanessa’s reply:

_How flattering. Goodbye, Cory. Want company? I can meet you._

Robin smiled. 

_No thanks. Going home and Haagen Daaz is waiting._

She looked around the restaurant, watching the various diners. How many people were on first dates tonight? Were they going well? She looked at a couple on the far side of the room, laughing. She sighed again. At least it had given her an excuse to wear the (totally impractical) heels that she had bought a few months ago. She admired them under the table.

“Is this seat taken?” Robin looked up into the amused face of Strike, dressed in a sharp suit. 

She laughed and stood up, balancing on her heels to give him a hug. She was pleased to note that she came up to his chin, getting a quick inhale of his aftershave. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked, stepping back. He kept his hand at her waist; her hand rested on the lapel of his suit.

“Meeting a client. We were seated in the back dining room, I didn’t spot you until I was leaving and saw your hair.” A waiter was heading towards them, bearing a tray laden with plates. 

It happened in slow motion: Robin stepped aside to let him pass at the same time that the woman at the table next to them stood up suddenly, the waiter veering to correct himself and slamming into Robin. She wobbled precariously on her heels, clutching at Strike, who tried to steady her with one hand while stopping the waiter’s tray from flying into the air with his other. Too late. Robin felt her balance give, and one of her ankles crunched ominously underneath her as it turned over.

She gave an undignified yelp and fell forward, but Strike caught her, having put the tray on the table. 

“Are you alright?”

“My ankle,” Robin gasped, trying and failing to put weight on it. “I’ve wrenched it.”

“Lean on me, come on,” Strike ordered, his arm wrapping around her waist. “Can you please call a cab for us?” he said to the waiter, who was wringing his hands.

The manager came hurrying over. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry miss, what can I do, what can I do?” He looked at Robin a bit desperately. 

Strike began walking Robin purposefully towards the back dining room, taking her weight. It was like being steered by a giant, Robin thought vaguely. She barely had to use her own feet. 

“I saw a private room back there earlier – she needs to sit down and rest while we wait for our cab.” Strike was talking firmly to the manager, who was walking alongside them, still wringing his hands.

“Of course, sir, of course!”

They reached the private room; Robin collapsed gratefully into a chair.

“Could we get some fucking ice, do you think?” Strike barked at the hovering manager, finally losing his patience.

“Oh! Yes, right away!” The manager hurried out of the room, closing the door behind him. The noise of the restaurant quieted to a buzz.

Strike knelt down awkwardly, wincing slightly at his bad knee. Robin’s ankle had begun to swell; it was really starting to hurt.

Strike looked at her. “I’m going to take that shoe off – okay?” Robin nodded.

Strike bent his head, concentrating on unbuckling the delicate strap that had begun to dig into her ankle. His fingers were light, but she couldn’t stop the whimper of pain that escaped her lips.

“So here we are, meeting up again,” Strike said, looking up at her, smiling. He was trying to distract her, she knew.  
He got the buckle undone, loosened the strap. “Three times in one week.”

“Yeah. I can’t believe this keeps happening,” she replied, hoping he’d get the joke. He did, it earned her a grin. He held her ankle tenderly, slipping the shoe off smoothly.  
The manager came back, handing Strike a large Ziploc bag full of ice cubes before hurrying off again amidst more apologies, clearly relieved to have Strike in charge.  
Strike leaned over and grabbed a tea towel hanging off a dessert cart, wrapping it deftly over the bag of ice. He looked up at Robin. 

“This will be cold. Ready?”  
She nodded. 

Strike lifted her foot, one hand gently under her heel, barely touching her swollen ankle, before resting it on his thigh. He placed the towel-wrapped bag of ice carefully onto the puffy, red skin.   
Robin was expecting it; it still didn’t stop her from gasping as both relief and pain flooded her senses as the cold hit the spot of the injury. She caught a glimpse of Strike gritting his teeth in empathy before squeezing her eyes shut. Oh, that cold felt good, but her ankle was starting to really throb. She gave a bitter laugh and a solitary tear leaked out from under her closed eyelid; she couldn’t help it. What a horrible evening.

“Robin. Hey.” She heard Strike’s voice, opened her eyes.

“I’ve got you. I’m here.” His eyes were piercing into hers, thumbs massaging slowly up and down on the skin above her ankle, soothing and calm. 

“You with me?” he asked, his voice low.

She nodded, unable to look away from those eyes, grounding her. His thumbs were tracing steady circles with perfectly even pressure. She wondered if Strike knew how distractingly good it felt.   
Not for the first time, he seemed to read her mind. 

“This okay?” he murmured. His eyes still hadn’t left hers. Oh. He knew.

She nodded again. Found her voice. “I don’t know how I’ll get to the cab – I’m sure this isn’t that bad, but – oh, this stupid evening – these stupid _shoes_ ,” she said ruefully, and Strike let out a huff of laughter, the air brushing across her bare knee. 

Robin shivered, closing her eyes. A few moments passed as she focused on those delicious, slow movements on her skin, passing just above the building ache in her ankle and drawing the pain upward and away. She let out a sigh that sounded embarrassingly close to a moan. She opened her eyes to Strike’s gaze.

His pupils were wide, the blue-green edges dark.  
Slowly, not breaking eye contact, he leaned forward, pressing his lips to her knee. He opened his mouth, and she felt the warmth of his tongue as he sucked, deliberately, softly, at her skin. Robin could barely breathe.

The door opened and the manager burst through. Strike drew back, breaking their gaze for the first time as he glanced at the door.

“Your cab is here, miss, sir!”

Strike lifted Robin’s ankle carefully off his thigh and got to his feet. 

“Can you walk?”

Robin nodded, lifting her chin and steeling herself. 

Strike shook his head at her, smiling. “Couldn’t have convinced you otherwise, I know.” He held out a hand. “Just lean on me, alright? Let me take your weight.”

Robin took his proffered hand and he hauled her up, his arm coming immediately around her, drawing her close. They began to walk, Robin wincing with each step, although Strike's support was helping. She felt the eyes of other diners on them as they made their way through the restaurant. Robin's shoes dangled from Strike's fingers. She could still feel the touch of his mouth on her knee.

Strike glanced at her. "Doing okay?" He smiled, raising an eyebrow. "Sorry your night didn't turn out that great." They were through the doors, out in the fresh air by the waiting taxi, the manager talking to the cab driver, insisting on covering the fare.

Robin looked back at him, gathering her courage and putting one hand to his cheek. 

"The night's not over yet."

**Author's Note:**

> We know Robin is a fast reader from her experience with the _Bombyx Mori_ manuscript in _Silkworm._
> 
> In terms of the _Musketeers_ in-joke, I blame that on the fact that I binge-watched the entire second season for the first time on the weekend, and I'm 99% sure I'm in love with Athos/Tom Burke (if I wasn't before.) Couldn't resist. :D


End file.
